A Good Dog
by WayLowHalo
Summary: When the phone rings in Peter's office Neal knows just by the look on his face that it's Elizabeth. He also knows just by the look on his face that something is wrong. Horribly, tragically wrong...


_**Disclaimer**: _White Collar_ and all related characters do not and never will belong to me._

**A Good Dog**

"You want to go outside, Satch?" Elizabeth Burke asked, standing and stretching, leaving her laptop open on the kitchen table. She had been working for the past couple hours and she just about had her most recent event planned out. A charity dinner for a somewhat picky but extremely wealthy client.

The dog looked up at her from his position stretched out on the floor a few feet away, his tail thumping happily.

"Let's go outside," Elizabeth said again. "I don't know about you but I could use a break."

Instantly Satchmo was on his feet, tail wagging more energetically now and Elizabeth smiled fondly, sliding open the door to the backyard, allowing her canine companion out. Satchmo bounded happily into the yard and Elizabeth smiled again, watching him. The dog loved being outside and his simple pleasure made her love him all the more.

From inside the house her cellphone rang and Elizabeth sighed. No doubt Danielson again with yet another request for the dinner. And _just_ when she had smoothed everything out too.

Satchmo was sniffing at some flowers in the corner of the yard and for a moment Elizabeth debated calling him to come in with her. The phone's shrill ring continued though and with a last glance at Satch she hurried to answer it.

She would only be a minute.

If she had known what would happen she would have let the phone ring.

She hadn't known though, and so she went to answer her phone.

* * *

><p>In the midst of the everyday hustle and bustle of the bullpen inside the FBI's White Collar division Neal Caffrey turned the page in the case file he was reading and sighed. It was such a nice day out and he was stuck in here reading up on a mortgage fraud case.<p>

Sometimes he wondered if Peter hated him. _He_ certainly hated mortgage fraud cases. Which Peter knew. Neal sighed.

What kind of self-respecting criminal would commit mortgage fraud anyway?

It was so plain. So boring. There was absolutely no creativity. No spark.

Allowing his mind to wander Neal absently glanced up to Peter's office, the agent was staring intently at his computer screen and idly Neal wondered if he was at least looking at something more interesting than mortgage fraud.

Even as he watched Peter's phone must have rung because without looking the agent picked it up and spoke into it.

Neal saw the grin curve Peter's mouth and barely had time to smile himself, reflecting that it must be Elizabeth—who else could make Peter smile like that?—before he saw the happiness fade and worry and horror take its place.

Without thinking about it Neal was on his feet and weaving between desks and people to get to Peter.

Peter, who had hung up the phone now and hurriedly grabbed his jacket before rushing out of his office and down the stairs to the bullpen.

Neal met him at the foot of the stairs.

"Peter."

The agent was already talking though. "Jones, Diana, I'm leaving for the day. If anything comes up that can't wait a day or so refer it to another team."

"Sure thing, Boss," Diana said, surprised, raising a brow at Jones who nodded.

"Everything all right, Peter?" Jones asked casually.

"What? No. I have to get home," Peter said, distracted, shrugging his jacket on.

"Peter, take a minute," Neal said, concerned. "What happened?"

"El needs me," Peter muttered, barely paying attention, all but jogging toward the exit and Neal, bewildered, followed.

"Peter! Is Elizabeth okay?" Neal asked, quickly managing to step in front of his friend, putting his hands on the older man's shoulders in an effort to still him, his heart clenching at the unshed tears he saw in Peter's eyes.

"It's Satchmo," Peter choked then, his voice strained. "He's dead."

Over Peter's shoulder Neal saw Jones and Diana halt in the act of coming toward them, shock and horror on their faces. Peter himself looked like he was struggling, his grief warring with his need to stay in control. Especially here, surrounded by people he worked with.

_Satchmo…_

That dog was like a child to Peter and Elizabeth. Their child.

Neal swallowed thickly.

"I'll drive," he murmured, gently snagging Peter's keys from his pocket.

Peter searched his gaze, nodding slowly, almost brokenly, allowing Neal to lead him from the office, and Neal, for his part, told himself he didn't notice the tear that rolled down Peter's cheek.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth met them at the door, her eyes already swollen from tears, and immediately stepped into Peter's arms, both of them trembling, Elizabeth burying her face in his shoulder even as he lowered his into her hair.<p>

They stayed like that for a moment, Neal standing awkwardly to the side. Normally he would take this moment to pet Satch and give them a minute to each other…

No Satch came forward to greet him though and Neal allowed himself an instant to try to grasp the harsh truth that he never would again… Satchmo, who had never seen a thief or a criminal when he looked at him… had only ever seen a friend, someone to love…

Neal shifted uneasily. Maybe he should go… he'd done his part by making sure Peter got home safely, after all. Peter and Elizabeth probably wanted to be alone now…

Just then Elizabeth gently extricated herself from her husband and turned to him, pulling him into an embrace as well. "Thank you for coming, Neal," she whispered into his ear and he felt his arms go around her in response.

"I'm so sorry, El," he murmured.

Elizabeth gave him a watery smile and stepped back to Peter, taking his hand and squeezing.

"How?" Peter asked then, his voice hoarse, almost desperate, and Elizabeth took a steadying breath, her eyes closing briefly.

"Let's go to the kitchen. I've got the kettle on. Would you like some tea, Neal?"

Neal hesitated. It was a clear invitation for him to stay but… he glanced at Peter questioningly, feeling strangely unsure.

Peter studied him, an indefinable emotion flickering through his eyes before he nodded, allowing his wife to gently tug him into the kitchen and motioning for Neal to follow.

Once they were seated at the table and Elizabeth had poured them all some hot tea she haltingly started talking.

I was sitting here. Right here," she murmured. "I had finally finished the Danielson event. You remember the one, Peter? With the client that kept changing his mind?" El asked and Peter nodded mutely. El nodded too. "Well… it's been so nice outside all day. Satch loves being outside."

El's breath hitched on Satchmo's name and Peter took an unsteady breath, unshed tears in his eyes.

Neal remembered the walks he had taken Satchmo on… the dog did love to be outside.

"I let him into the backyard," Elizabeth continued. "I stood right there at the door with him but… my phone rang."

Tears spilled down her cheeks and she sought Peter's gaze desperately. "I should have let the person leave a message but we've always been able to leave Satch in the yard and it was only for a few minutes."

"This isn't your fault, El," Peter told her fiercely, his own voice a little unsteady, standing and pulling her into another embrace and she clung to him, shuddering, before forcing herself to continue.

"When I went back to check on him the gate was hanging open and he was gone. I called for him but he didn't come. I must have looked for half an hour or so before I called the humane society. They promised to call if they heard anything or if anyone brought in a yellow lab…"

El took another breath here, staring into the backyard, perhaps seeing an open gate, though it was closed now, and an empty yard where a dog should be.

Looking out at the gate Neal realized a person had to have opened it. Latched gates didn't suddenly become unlatched on their own and Satchmo hadn't had the opposable thumbs necessary…

"It was barely fifteen minutes before they called me back. There had been an accident and a yellow lab had been hit by a truck in the middle of the street. The driver had brought the body to them. I must have sped the whole way there, praying it wasn't really Satch but… it was."

El's voice was barely more than a whisper by the time she finished her story and for a moment no one moved and silence reigned.

"I should never have answered the phone," Elizabeth said finally, brokenly.

"It wasn't your fault, El," Neal said as Peter once more embraced his wife. "People should be able to let their dogs into their own backyards without fear."

Peter glanced sharply at him then before glancing out at the yard and gate, realization dawning and Neal knew that with the shock and grief his friend hadn't pieced it together yet that this was something someone had _done_. That Satchmo hadn't gotten out on his own. That it hadn't been an accident.

"Oh, God," Peter choked out and Neal met his gaze over Elizabeth's head, trying, without words, to send his apology and his sorrow. "I didn't even… God… Satchmo…" Peter said, still in shock, staring out again at the gate. "Who… _why?_"

"I don't know, hon," Elizabeth whispered, putting a gentle hand on his cheek. "I don't know."

* * *

><p>The rest of the evening passed quietly. Neither Peter nor Elizabeth seemed in any hurry for Neal to leave and as long as his presence offered them some comfort he had no intention of denying them.<p>

The couple did, however, retreat to their bedroom briefly but Elizabeth made a point to say they'd be down soon and Peter made a comment about it being a bit late to walk and so Neal assumed that meant he was supposed to stay.

He used the time to fix a quick supper for them all. He wasn't particularly hungry and doubted Peter and Elizabeth were either but thought they should probably eat anyway.

The meal was spent in relative silence and all felt the absence of the dog at their feet.

They watched a movie afterward, the volume turned down low, reflecting the subdued mood of the household. Elizabeth sat between the two men on the couch and when the credits rolled around 8:30 or so she sighed and used her hand to tiredly brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think I've had enough of this day now," she said quietly, sadly, her voice reflecting an exhaustion that was more than just physical. "I'm going to bed."

"Want me to come?" Peter asked immediately, not liking the despair he heard in her voice but she only smiled softly at him, shaking her head.

"Why don't you stay down here with Neal for a bit longer? You can make him up a bed on the couch. I'll be fine for a while."

"That's really not necessary, Elizabeth," Neal interjected but El shook her head firmly.

"It is, Neal. It's the least we can do after everything you've done for us today. Besides, Peter needs you."

Said simply and casually and with that she kissed Peter on the cheek, put a hand affectionately on Neal's arm, and was up the stairs.

Neal stared after her in shock and Peter let out a breath, actually chuckling a little. "Don't fight it Neal, she's right. You've helped us today probably more than you realize. You might as well stay the night."

Neal raised a brow. "All right," he said finally, wondering about the last thing Elizabeth had said, wondering if Peter was saying she was right about that too.

"Want a beer?" Peter asked, getting up from the couch.

"Sure," Neal said, quelling his distaste for beer. It was more for Peter anyway and he could make due for a night.

'_Peter needs you…'_

* * *

><p>Sometime later, in the gathering gloom of his living room, finishing up his third beer, Peter chuckled humorlessly. "You know, I keep finding myself looking around and wondering where Satchmo's gotten to. Stupid, huh? Considering the whole evening's been about his death. And I haven't forgotten. I just…"<p>

"It's natural, Peter. Not stupid," Neal said, gently interrupting his friend who was looking more and more lost.

"He was just a dog, Neal," Peter whispered, his breath hitching and Neal closed his eyes against the pain in Peter's voice.

"He was more than that. He was a member of your family. It's okay to miss him, Peter," he said softly.

The older man ran a trembling hand through his hair, turning to look in the direction of the kitchen and the backyard beyond. "He was a good dog, Neal. Who would do something like that?" he asked unsteadily and Neal didn't have to ask what he meant, again flashing on the thought that Satch couldn't have gotten loose on his own.

Satch, who was so innocent and trusting… he would have happily followed someone out, eager to make a new friend…

"What kind of a sick person would do that?" Peter asked again. "I see criminals everyday but—"

"Not all criminals would do something like that," Neal said, stung, and surprised, Peter glanced at him before his expression softened, becoming apologetic.

"I didn't mean it like that. Criminal doesn't always mean bad person I just meant… Satchmo…"

Neal sighed, deflating, his brief hurt gone. "I know, Peter. I'm sorry too. Satchmo deserved better."

"Yeah," Peter said softly, draining the last of his beer before standing and automatically Neal stood with him. "I should get to bed," the agent said tiredly. "You'll be fine down here?"

"Of course," Neal said quickly, allowing his hand to linger briefly on Peter's shoulder.

Peter nodded and was at the bottom on the steps before he turned back.

"Neal?"

"Yes?" the former con man asked.

"Thank you," Peter said quietly. "For today. For everything. For being here. I don't know how we… how I… would have gotten though today if not for you. You're a good friend, Neal."

Neal nodded at the agent. At his friend. "Anytime Peter," he acknowledged, throat thick with emotion and Peter held his eyes for a moment longer before nodding back.

"Goodnight, Neal."

"Night, Peter," Neal murmured.

-**End**

_Author's Note: __So I know this isn't really much of an ending but... does grief ever really have much of an end? _

_Today is Feburary 25, 2012 and exactly one year ago today my dog Tang died in much the same way as Satchmo does in this story. I took some liberties with some small details here and there, to make it fit with White Collar... but he was in the backyard... and an unknown someone opened the gate... and that was the last time we saw him alive. _

_I guess I wrote this because people _should_ be able to let their dogs in their own backyards without having to stand outside with them just to make sure they're safe. They _should_ but they apparently _can't_. I guess I wrote this in an attempt to get some closure for myself, which sometimes, even a year later, seems pretty elusive._

_I guess I wrote this because I miss my dog. _


End file.
